Who Wants to Live Forever?
by Dot
Summary: :Completed: Brian resurfaces (again) in 93, but with what new secrets to hide? Crossover with Highlander... I know its insane, read it anyway:)
1. Chapter One

A/N: Why do I keep coming up with these insane crossovers? First VG/Quantum Leap… Now VG/Highlander. I don't know if this one will work as well as the other seemed to, but please R+R to let me know.   
  
Background Info: If you've never seen the show, you should probably read this. Highlander was a series of movies and TV shows about Immortals. They are human, but live forever. They can only die if their heads are cut off. Most immortals carry swords to defend themselves. When one kills the other, he or she gets the other's power in a lightning burst called the Quickening. Immortals are forever stuck at the age that they first 'died' at (they can be 'killed' but they just come back to life). Duncan McLeod is the Highlander, he's all noble and stuff; Tessa Noel is his lover of 12 years; Richie Ryan works for them in their antique store.  
  
Chapter One  
Seacouver  
  
Richie Ryan bobbed his head along to the music blasting from the stereo. If Mac caught him playing it this loud in the main show room, he'd be in big trouble, but McLeod wasn't due back for an hour or more. Besides, the album was Mac's; Richie had found it in the storage room that morning. It was the only music that he'd seen in the store that wasn't opera or classical. He was curious to see who this Brian Slade was, so he put the old record on and turned it up once he'd found he liked it. But curiosity had killed the cat, and it would kill Richie, too, if Mac or Tessa came home to find him blasting "The Ballad of Maxwell Demon".   
  
The music was so loud Richie didn't hear the bell ding as someone entered the antique store. He didn't even notice anyone else's presence until a hand landed on his shoulder. "Excuse me?"   
  
Richie jumped, dropping his broom as he spun to face the newcomer. "Geez, man, you scared me."  
  
The man smiled. He was about 5'10", a little shorter than Richie. His dark brown hair was close cropped and his skin lightly tanned. Sunglasses covered his eyes, as designer as his slacks and overcoat. "Music's a little loud," the young man said, but his tone was lightly amused, not reproving.   
  
"Only way to play it," Richie replied, grinning, then moved to turn the music off.   
  
"Brian Slade, huh? That was a lifetime ago."   
  
"Better than the bubblegum crap they're putting out now."   
  
The man removed his sunglasses with a flourish. "Couldn't agree more."  
  
Richie felt his stomach plummet and his cheeks flush. "You're Tom Maxwell, aren't you?"   
  
"The one and only."  
  
"I am so sorry…" he trailed off, mentally kicking himself. Right in front of him was the best-selling singer of 91 and 92, and he'd called modern music- *his* music- 'bubblegum crap'.   
  
Tom just grinned. "Its cool. I'm with you on that one. McLeod around?"   
  
"Uh… No, he's with Tessa. Should be back soon," Richie finished quickly, remembering that all of McLeod's 'friends' didn't wish him well.   
  
"Mind if I wait?" Tom asked, immediately turning and heading for the living area of the store.  
  
"No, not at all," Richie mumbled as he disappeared from view. Richie headed quickly after him, into the kitchen. "So how do you know Mac?"   
  
Tom smiled as he poured coffee into a mug. "I'm an old friend." He gestured to the pot of coffee in front of him. "You want?"  
  
"Nah," Richie said, not stopping to appreciate the strangeness of someone offering him coffee in his own home. "How long you known Mac?"  
  
Tom chuckled. "Not long… Twenty years, give or take."  
  
*Bingo,* Richie though. The long coat, the familiarity, plus the fact that he didn't look older than twenty-five. Tom Maxwell was an immortal.  
  
Before Richie could comment, the kitchen door swung open. "Richie," Mac said as he entered, a tinge of alarm coloring his voice. His hand was on the hilt of his sword, ready to draw. Then he saw Tom and the alarm in his face immediately turned to joy. "Brian?" Mac asked, striding forward.   
  
Tom grinned and met him half way. "Mac," he said as the older man folded him into a friendly hug.   
  
Richie sat on his stool, confused. "Brian?"   
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ London, England, 1975 ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~  
  
Brian Slade shivered and wrapped his coat tighter around him. Brian asked himself for the twentieth time why he was walking down St. Giles at two am in the dead of winter. The answer came again- if you want it, get it yourself.   
  
Shannon had said that to him after the last time he had ran out of cocaine. *If you want it, get it yourself, Brian*. But he was completely out of money, nearly out of contacts, and definitely out of luck. The only thing that he seemed to have was time, and that just wouldn't stop.  
  
After his break up with Curt, he had wanted it all to end. He'd settled his estate, kissed Mandy goodbye, and paid a man to shoot him onstage at his own concert. The bullets had been real. He'd loaded them himself. The wounds had been real to; they'd torn through his skin, leaving him lying on the stage in blinding agony. He'd felt himself die, and when he woke up, he thought he was in hell. Instead he was still on stage, Shannon and Jerry crowded around him with the members of his band.   
  
He was alive. Even his suicide didn't go right.   
  
Maxwell Demon had fallen after that. But Brian Slade had remained, every night overdosing on cocaine and every night reawakening as if he hadn't died at all. He'd gone through his money quickly, his friends quicker, and now he was alone. Even Shannon had deserted him.   
  
Brian kicked at the ground bitterly and headed inside the dingy hotel. He was supposed to meet a junk dealer there, one who apparently liked his music and wouldn't mind trading a night of sex with his idol for enough coke to last Brian a couple more nights.   
  
He was crossing the threshold when a mind numbing pain his him. Brian staggered, wondering if the head ache was an after effect from O.D.ing every night for three weeks. But the ache immediately lessened and he moved forward again.   
  
Before he could enter fully, a tall man strode towards him, his strong arm forcing Brian back though the door and onto the cold street. "I am Duncan McLeod of the Clan McLeod," the stranger said with the remnants of a Scottish brogue.   
  
"I don't give a damn," Brian snapped.   
  
The man looked confused. "You're not here for me?"   
  
Brian was too shaky from withdrawal to care about caution. "I'm here for drugs!" he cried, and tried to throw the man's arm off of his shoulder. He stumbled, nearly falling into the snow.   
  
McLeod caught him. "Do you know what we are?"   
  
"We're nothing," Brian said, trying again to shove McLeod away. "I'm nothing."   
  
"You died recently."   
  
"You read the papers. I'm impressed."  
  
McLeod's reassuring voice went on. "You died and you came back. Maybe more than once. Wounds heal quickly and you got a buzz in your head as I came close." Brian nodded slowly, shivering violently. McLeod sighed. "Come on. I'll buy you dinner and explain."   
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~   
  
"He told me what I was and taught me what I needed to know." Brian sighed and smiled at McLeod. "If it wasn't for him, someone would have taken my head sooner or later."   
  
Mac chuckled. "Probably later; you were always good at charming your way out of situations, Bri."   
  
"So you're Brian Slade, huh?" Richie asked.   
  
"The one and only," Brian repeated, giving the same smile he's flashed Richie in the showroom.   
  
"It's great seeing you, Brian, but why are you here? Last I heard, you were a big time pop star recording an CD down in LA."  
  
"Still am, Mac." Brian sighed, bit lightly on his lower lip. "But I need your help." 


	2. Chapter Two

Chapter Two  
New York, NY   
  
Arthur Stuart sighed and ran a hand through his dark hair. How had he lost him? He was *so* sure he had him that last time, *so* sure that the glamorous young man Luis Costa- decapitated and found by the Brooklyn docks- was last seen with was Tom Maxwell.   
  
But Maxwell had skipped town that morning- the morning of a big concert, none the less. Something had spooked him. The death of Costa? Probably. But whatever it was, it had cost Maxwell and his label thousands of dollars in merchandise and returned tickets, plus pissed off fans who didn't like being stood up. And he- the furthest thing from a fan of Maxwell- was going to find out what had happened.  
  
Arthur stood quickly and pulled his jacket on. There weren't many places Maxwell would head if he wanted to get away and very few people who could be trusted to keep his location a secret. Which was exactly why Arthur was heading down into Brooklyn from the cozy confines of his Manhattan apartment with an envelope of money tucked into his pocket. The rich and famous couldn't have secrets. It wasn't allowed.   
  
Bianca Montalban was a back-up dancer for Maxwell. She was also supposedly an occasional lover, but Arthur didn't know if that particular rumor was true. He'd gotten to know her a little since his recent investigation- well, some said obsession- with Maxwell. He knew she needed cash, probably for drugs, and he was happy to oblige her for Maxwell's current location.   
  
Bianca was a pretty little thing- gorgeous, actually- with big blue eyes and a beautiful body that had grown thin since her recent foray into speed and cocaine. She waited for him on a park bench, posture perfectly relaxed, as if she wasn't in one of the most dangerous parts of town. She flashed him her killer smile as he approached. "You're late," she said, but she didn't seem to mind.   
  
"Traffic," he replied, and sat a comfortable distance away from her on the park bench.   
  
She immediately scooted toward him and put a hand on his knee. "What can I do for you, Mr. Stuart?"   
  
"Tom Maxwell. Where is he?"  
  
Bianca's blue eyes fell. "I dunno. Why?"   
  
"I'm a reporter. That's a stupid question."   
  
"He had nothing to do with Costa's death, you have to know that, Arthur." Bianca's smile returned, but it was seductive and her hand slid up his leg a little. "Why don't you and I go have a drink…"   
  
"Bianca, I'm *really* not interested." The dancer slumped back, unable to comprehend why the unmarried, very attractive reporter didn't want her. Arthur almost wanted to smile at her confusion. He didn't and merely said, "I'll make it worth your while if you tell me."   
  
She considered, tapping her foot to a rhythm in her head. "Yeah, ok. Fine." She snatched the offered envelope. "He's got this friend, McLeod, in Seacouver. That's in Washington- the state. He, uh, goes there to hide out sometimes. That's all I know."  
  
"You're an angel, Bianca." Arthur winked at her and stood. He sobered as he stared down at her tiny form, pale and nearly emaciated. "Take care of yourself."  
  
She smiled and tapped the envelope. "This is getting me into rehab, Arthur. I'll be okay."   
  
He nodded and headed back down the street. It took him nearly an hour to get back home, but the trip had been worth it. The first thing he did when he entered his apartment was to call the airline and book a flight to Seacouver the next morning. Without checking his messages, he peeled off his clothes and took a hot shower.   
  
When he emerged, he finally noticed the blinking red light on the answering machine beside his bed. He pressed play, then began riffling through his dresser for clothes he would need on his trip.   
  
The first message was from his boss at the Herald, wondering if his Maxwell story was going anywhere. Arthur smiled. It was going to Washington. He made a mental note to call Lou and tell him that. The next message was from Curt, Arthur's lover. Curt was in LA for business, but he'd kept his promise to call Arthur every day. The contents of the message made him blush and he made another mental note to return the favor when Curt got home.   
  
Arthur was just throwing socks and underwear onto the bed to be packed when the last message came on. For a moment after the strained, crying woman's voice came on, he didn't know who it was. Then the woman seemed to get a hold on herself and he understood that it was Bianca.   
  
"Arthur, oh, God, please, you gotta help me… He made me tell and he… Oh, Arthur, please…" her voice trailed off and then there was silence in the bedroom.   
  
Too much silence. Arthur dropped his boxers and nearly ran to the phone, dialing Bianca's number from memory. As soon as he heard the phone pick up, he said, "Bianca, are you alright?"  
  
There was no answer for a moment. Then a heavy man's voice asked, "Who is this?"   
  
Arthur felt cold all over. "I'm a friend of Bianca Montalban's. Who is this?"  
  
"This is Detective Moriarty with the NYPD. Sorry to tell you this, mister, but Bianca Montalban overdosed on heroine. She her body was found a half an hour ago in a park ten minutes from here." 


	3. Chapter Three

Chapter Three  
Seacouver  
  
"Everything's been going great. Tom Maxwell's career has blasted off. The tour, the magazines, talk shows… I have a third CD due out right after the tour is over. Then it started." Brian was quiet for a moment. "I was walking out of my apartment one day when I felt the presence of another Immortal. I didn't have my sword," he said quickly, glancing at McLeod apologetically. "So I ducked back inside. No one came after me. But since then, every few days, I'd feel him- the same Immortal. It was like he was watching me. Then last week, Luis was found dead near his apartment."  
  
"Who's Luis?" Richie asked quietly.   
  
Brian seemed to only then remember his presence and said softly, "Luis was… my student. He barely knew the basics; he'd only been Immortal for a couple months. Whoever killed him must have known he didn't have a chance. Then this reporter started hounding me, so sure *I'd* killed Luis. I would never… I think that whoever's been following me killed Luis- and I think he's after me." Brian downed the last of his coffee. "You have to help me, Mac."   
  
Duncan nodded. "Don't worry, Brian. Why don't you get some rest?"   
  
Brian stood. "Guest room still where it used to be?"   
  
"Uh, no, that's Richie's room now," Duncan said.   
  
"You can-" Richie began, ready to offer his room, but Brian stopped him with a wave of his hand.   
  
"I'll go check into a hotel. I'll be back later tonight. How about dinner, Mac? You, me, Tessa… You too, Richie. We'll play catch up."   
  
"Okay," Duncan agreed and said goodbye to Brian. Then he turned to Richie. "Thanks for offering up your room."  
  
"No prob, Mac. From the way he talks, it sounds like it used to be his."  
  
"Not his exclusively, but he used to come by when the pressure of stardom- or mediocrity, after his last career failed- got to much for him."   
  
"You two close?" Richie asked nonchalantly, trying to ignore the small flicker of jealousy that came with the knowledge that he wasn't Mac's first pet project.   
  
"Not anymore. Brian can't stand not being in the spotlight. One day, it'll get him in trouble." Mac's face darkened. "It might have already."   
  
*  
  
His stomach grumbled and Richie regretted for the third time in that half hour since Mac and Tessa had left that he hadn't gone with them. He hadn't wanted to intrude on the reunion of Mac, his former student and Mac's long time girlfriend and business partner Tessa Noel.   
  
Richie quickly finished up the sweeping that he hadn't finished earlier. It wasn't as if there was ever any dirt on the floor, but Tessa insisted that the floors be as shining as the polished vases and statues in the display case. *Speaking of…* Richie thought, and moved to retrieve a cloth from the supply cabinet in the back.   
  
He had barely moved an inch when he heard the front door open. *Oh, great,* he thought. *How could I forget to lock it? Mac is gonna kill me…* He swiftly moved towards the slowly opening door. "Hey," he called. "Can I help you?"   
  
The door crashed open. "Yeah, I think you can."   
  
Richie backed up a step out of instinct. The man before him was huge, at least six foot tall, with bushy black hair and a sword in one of his powerful hands. "Uh, if you're looking for a sixteenth century Ming chandelier, I think I can too. But other than that…"   
  
The man apparently didn't like his joke, since his free hand snaked out and caught Richie's throat. "So, little boy, where can I find Mr. Maxwell?"   
  
"I have his first CD-" Richie choked out.   
  
"Joking won't get you anywhere but your grave. Where?"   
  
"I don't know." The hand tightened. "I dunno! Honest!"  
  
There were footsteps at the door. The burly man seemed to hear them too, because he let go of Richie, who immediately crumpled to the ground. "You tell him I was here."   
  
The man pushed past the newcomer and hurried down the street. The second man, far thinner and *not* carrying a huge broadsword, rushed to Richie's side. Immediately he offered a hand up, which Richie took gratefully. "Are you okay?"   
  
Richie's hand went to the sore skin of his throat. "Yeah, I think I will be. It's a good thing you came along when you did." He straightened. "How can I help you?"   
  
The man smiled and held out a card. "Arthur Stuart, from the Herald. Do you know where I can find Tom Maxwell?"   
  
Richie rolled his eyes and looked up at the ceiling. "Why me?" 


	4. Chapter Four

Chapter Four  
  
They were attracting a lot of attention at the restaurant. Brian attracted a lot of attention wherever he went. Especially when he was on the cover of four current magazines, on posters above every school girl's bed, and on the radio in every trendy store.   
  
Duncan was trying to ignore the fawning girls staring at them- or rather at Brian- from across the room. Tessa looked like she could barely hold in her laughter and Brian handled it like a pro. He still looked completely natural, but there was a flourish in his moves that hadn't been there before and his smile became much more prominent and showy.   
  
Dinner was pretty uneventful; the high note was when one of the girls got up the courage to approach them as they were leaving and ask for Brian's autograph. He obliged with a friendly smile and sent the girl, squealing in joy, back to her friends.  
  
"I thought we were trying to be low profile?" Duncan said lightly.   
  
Brian grinned. "Got to enjoy the fans when you've got 'em, Mac."   
  
They arrived back at the antique store, Brian and Duncan intending to do some more secretive catch up- mostly having to do with Immortals Brian had met up with in the past two years. Richie was waiting for them, holding an ice pack to his neck. As soon as they entered, he stood, put down the ice pack and held a card out to Brian. "You had two visitors, *Mr. Maxwell*."   
  
"What happened?" Tessa asked Richie, rushing to his side.   
  
"I think its safe to say the first guy's an Immortal. Came in here, grabbed me by the throat, had a big sword. The second guy's-"  
  
"That damn reporter," Brian hissed, looking down at the card. "Arthur Stuart. Again. You remember when I was Tommy Stone, right? Well, Stuart brought me down then too. I wasn't doing anything illegal, per se. But the fans didn't like that their conservative idol had been the bisexual leader of the sexual revolution. I had to kill myself because of him; I lost all my assets and had to start all over again! And I have. The music might not be inspired or great, but it's *mine*. And he wants to take it away again."  
  
"I think we should focus on the guy with the sword, Bri. He seemed a *bit* more irritated with you," Richie said.   
  
Brian looked annoyed at that. "My career is more important-"  
  
"Than what? Your life?" Duncan snapped.   
  
Brian looked away. "Of course not," he murmured, but didn't sound convincing. Then he looked over at Richie. "You didn't tell him where I was staying, did you?" he asked sharply.   
  
Richie rolled his eyes. "Yes, of course, I give out information like water. Ask me a question and I'll tell you the truth, even if you have a huge broadsword!"   
  
"Not him- Arthur!"   
  
"No, I didn't tell Arthur where you were staying." Richie shrugged off Tessa's arm. "I'm going to bed. G'night, all." He walked back to his room, exhaustion plain in every step. Tessa quickly said goodnight and followed the young man.  
  
Duncan watched them go, then turned back to his old student. "Priorities, Brian. That Immortal could come for your head anytime, or come back here and kill Tessa and Richie to send you a message."   
  
"I know!" Brian snapped, then collapsed into the chair Richie had vacated.   
  
"So why do you care so much about this reporter?"   
  
"He has a grudge against me. He doesn't even know I'm me and he has a grudge against me. I don't know why… Plus, he's with Curt, you know, the bleedin' fruit," Brian said dejectedly, kicking at the edge of the carpet.   
  
Duncan rolled his eyes at the mention of Brian's ex-lover. "That explains it then."  
  
"This kid has ruined my career once, wants to do it again, made my life a living hell and you think I hate him because he's living with my ex-boyfriend?" Brian asked in disbelief. He was quiet for a moment. "Well, you'd be right. I loved Curt, yeah. But I moved on, and so did he. It was another life."   
  
"Then get your mind off him and the reporter, and onto the current situation."  
  
"Can do, Mac." Brian stood gracefully and smiled. "I will see you tomorrow."   
  
"Be here early," Duncan commanded. At Brian's questioning look, Duncan shrugged. "Sword practice. It's been- what, years?- since you've had an actual opponent."   
  
Brian laughed. "See you then."   
  
*  
  
The Seacouver Marriott was twenty minutes from Mac's antique store. Brian got there in ten, driving at breakneck speed for no real reason. He left his rental car for the valet and hurried up to his second floor room.   
  
The door was slightly ajar. Brian froze at the sight of the narrow ribbon of light peaking through to the hallway. But he didn't feel the buzz that indicated another Immortal's presence, so instead of running (which was commonly misconceived as the coward's way out; in truth, Brian knew, it was the smart way out) he crept to the door and pushed it open gently, then peaked inside.   
  
And immediately rolled his eyes. "Stooped to breaking and entering to get your stories already, Mr. Stuart?" 


	5. Chapter Five

Chapter Five   
  
Arthur's flight had been delayed, and so he hadn't gotten to Seacouver until after six. He'd checked into his hotel, a dingy place called the Seaside Inn even though it was no where near the ocean. It hadn't taken him long to find McLeod and Noel's Antiques and Appraisals. Tom Maxwell hadn't been there, but some kid, probably McLeod's son, had been. Arthur had walked in on a burly man- carrying what looked like a sword- choking the boy. Apparently Arthur's presence had spooked him, and the man left as soon as he saw him.   
  
The kid was alright, and Arthur had told him who he was looking for. He'd looked exasperated when Arthur handed him his card but promised to give it to Maxwell if he saw him. After that, Arthur had quickly left the boy to tend to the huge bruise that would surely be covering his neck the next day.   
  
After confirming that Maxwell was in town, it hadn't taken Arthur long to figure out where he was staying: the most expensive hotel in Seacouver. The Seacouver Marriott fit the bill. As he stepped out of his taxi, Arthur noted with scorn that Maxwell's hotel *actually* had a view.   
  
Maxwell was staying in room 214. Arthur let himself with the maid, trying not to attract attention. Maxwell wasn't there, so Arthur sat back on the bed and grinned wickedly. He reached for the phone with an evil chuckle and placed a long distance call to LA.   
  
An half an hour and many blushes later, the door swung open and Tom Maxwell stood silhouetted in the door way. Arthur smiled and said into the phone, "Curt, I've got to go. Company's here." He hung up without waiting for Curt's reply and smiled at Tom.   
  
"Stooped to breaking and entering to get your stories already, Mr. Stuart?" Tom asked, stepping into the light.   
  
Arthur felt a jolt of… something… as he came fully into view. He'd felt it every time he'd seen Tom, from the very first night he appeared on MTV to this night in the hotel room. It wasn't desire, although Tom Maxwell was by far the most beautiful man he'd ever seen. It felt like recognition, but he knew he'd never seen Tom before that night on TV. And Tom didn't have just one of those faces; it was too perfectly sculpted, too wonderfully beautiful to come from any common mold.   
  
Arthur dismissed the feeling just as he always had and replied, "I came in with the maid."  
  
"Remind me to have her fired." Tom sighed. "Mr. Stuart, don't I get a moment's peace?"  
  
"There's no rest for the wicked."  
  
"Me or you?"  
  
"Both," Arthur said and flashed a boyish grin.   
  
"What are you doing in Seacouver?" Tom asked, coming further into the room and shutting the door behind him.   
  
"Enjoying the sites, taking in the air… Mourning a friend."  
  
"What?" Tom asked sharply.   
  
"Bianca Montalban overdosed last night."  
  
"Overdosed?"   
  
"The police found her body in the park near her apartment."  
  
Tom swallowed hard, sat on the bed beside Arthur. "No. She was getting her act together."   
  
"I don't doubt it. No, Mr. Maxwell, I think Bianca was murdered."  
  
"Who would want to kill Bianca?"  
  
"The same person who killed Luis Costa?" Arthur asked. His expression told Tom exactly who he though killed both of the talented young people.   
  
Tom jumped to his feet; Arthur followed him there. "I didn't kill Luis! Or Bianca! Why are you doing this to me?"   
  
"Just trying to uncover the truth. Its my job."  
  
"You don't care about the truth! You just want something juicy to print! Well, you want something juicy? Print this: I loved Luis Costa. Was *in love* with him. We were lovers, gay lovers! Print it if you want, I don't care! Maybe it'll just make you like me more; we all know about your affinity for gay rock stars!"   
  
Arthur flushed. "My personal life is none of your business!"   
  
"Then why do you make mine yours! I didn't kill Luis. I didn't have Bianca killed. I'm not some demon living a rock star's life and I don't understand why you're trying to ruin my career again!"   
  
Arthur didn't miss the slip. "Again? Mr. Maxwell, I wasn't aware that I had previously ruined your career as a waiter. That is what you did before making it big, isn't it? At least, that's what you tell the reporters."   
  
Tom just shook his head. "Get out. I am not in the mood for this."  
  
"When are you in the mood for the truth, Tom?"  
  
"Get out!" he yelled. "You bloody bastard, just leave! I don't need your questions!"   
  
As Tom started yelling, his voice took on an accent, lilting and unmistakably English. And suddenly, it clicked.  
  
Arthur stood stunned as the American-as-apple-pie Tom Maxwell transformed before his eyes into the British Brian Slade. He couldn't believe it. But he'd seen Brian Slade enough back in the 70s to know the accented voice, the expression and the fire in the blue eyes when they were lit in anger. It was the voice that did it. Arthur back slowly up, leaving Tom- Brian?- in his hotel room.   
  
The cab ride back to his own hotel was a blur as he pondered his discovery. It was impossible. But he'd *worshipped* Brian Slade when he was seventeen, and the man back in the Marriott had been Brian Slade.   
  
By the time Arthur had reached his hotel and gotten up to his room, his mind had registered two things: one, that Brian Slade was Tom Maxwell, and two, that it was impossible for Brian Slade to be Tom Maxwell. Tom Maxwell couldn't be more than twenty-five, and Brian Slade would be nearly forty-five.   
  
Not to mention the fact that Brian Slade had died eight years before.   
  
Arthur had gone to his funeral. He hadn't wanted to, having been the one to cause "Tommy Stone's" downfall and inadvertently cause his suicide. But he'd made himself go, out of respect for an idol that had died long ago, and a time- a freedom- that had long since past.   
  
It had been a closed casket- Shannon, "Tommy's" manager, had insisted on it, and Curt, as the executor of Brian's estate, had agreed. It was the only thing the two had ever agreed on, Curt later told him.   
  
Curt. The name filled Arthur with joy- as it always had- and trepidation- that was new. If Brian was alive, where did that leave him? Oh, he knew Curt loved him. But Curt had been on the rebound both times he'd ended up with him, and both times had been due to Brian- the first after Brian's fall from stardom and the second after his death. Arthur still remembered Curt at the funeral. Arthur approached him cautiously, to be greeted with a "Thanks for coming" and then promptly be pulled into a sobbing embrace. They hadn't even known each other that well then, but Curt had trusted him and he had *always* trusted Curt.   
  
Arthur's mind immediately decided to push Curt aside at that thought and get back to the logistics. How was it possible for Brian Slade to be Tom Maxwell? The effect of aging- which Brian had used quite well when he created Tommy Stone- couldn't be done that well in reverse. Even ignoring the fact that Brian was legally dead, it was impossible for him to look- and act- twenty five.   
  
Just as Arthur decided to stop using the word 'impossible' there was a knock at the door. He wished Curt was there, to answer it and tell whoever it was that he was busy, then come over, wrap him in strong arms and tell him everything would be alright. But Curt was in LA and he was in the dingy Seacouver hotel room, so he stood and opened the door.   
  
"Who-" was all he got out, before a huge hand smashed forward into his face, knocking him out cold. 


	6. Chapter Six

Chapter Six  
  
"A little rusty, aren't you, Mac?" Brian asked, lunging for and nearly cutting McLeod's stomach.   
  
"Don't get cocky," McLeod replied with a grin and parried, then waged an attack of his own, slicing at Brian's feet. His student hopped over the blade, but the jump knocked him off balance and Mac shoved him into one of the many piles of dirt in the old warehouse.   
  
Brian sprung to his feet and attacked in earnest. He was quick, and made up in speed and agility what he lacked in brute strength. He had McLeod winded in no time, then made a move to disarm him. Mac saw it coming and feinted to the left. Then he snapped back and tripped Brian. The younger man landed on his knees and Mac stood above him, fully able to take his head. "I told you not to get cocky." He held out a hand and pulled Brian to his feet. "You're distracted. What's wrong?"   
  
Brian wiped the dirt smudges from his sword on his jeans. "Stuart's getting close. I slipped up last night… I think he knows. Or at least suspects."  
  
"Time for Thomas Maxwell to have a tragic accident?" Mac asked, raising his eyebrows.   
  
"No! It's not fair! All I ever wanted was this! I want to be recognized, idolized! I get it and every single time, someone screws it up! More often or not, its Curt's little boy toy!" Brian's lips settled into an angry pout as he thrust his sword into the dirt floor.   
  
"Brian, you have forever to make a name for yourself. Isn't it more important that that name be yours? That people love the real you, not some abstraction?"   
  
"There is no real me," Brian murmured. He looked up at his former teacher. "Look, we should get back. My agent's supposed to call, tell me what damages we have to work through because of my little impromptu vacation."   
  
The two headed back to the shop in silence. Brian and Mac headed inside once they got there, walking side by side, but not talking. Richie and Tessa sat at the table, eating lunch. Tessa smiled when they walked in. "There's sandwiches on the counter."   
  
Mac moved towards the plate while Brian retrieved his coat. "Thanks, Tessa, but I think I'm gonna go back to the hotel, clean up. I'll be by later." He moved toward the door, but before he could leave, the phone rang.   
  
Tessa answered it as Duncan said, "Look, Brian, please stick around."   
  
"Its fine. I'm all dirty and bruised anyway-"  
  
Tessa cut him off. "Tom, its for you. Your agent?"   
  
Brian dropped his coat back on the chair and moved to take the phone from Tessa. "What's going on, Scott?"   
  
The voice on the other end laughed pleasantly. "Scott? Ah, no. But I am acquainted with your work… Brian."   
  
Brian shot a distressed look toward Mac, who dropped his sandwich back on the plate and moved toward him. "What do you want?"   
  
"Meet me tonight, at Weatherly Park. Nice and quiet. We can have a chat."   
  
"Why should I?"  
  
"I have a friend of yours. Tall, dark, a reporter, I believe."  
  
"He's not a friend," Brian said.   
  
"Well, then, you wouldn't mind if I cut his throat."  
  
Brian barely hesitated. "Don't."  
  
"Then be at the park at nine tonight. Don't be late…"  
  
"Fine." Brian slammed down the phone.   
  
"What's wrong?" Duncan asked.   
  
"He's got that idiot reporter."   
  
"Solves some of your problems, doesn't it?" Richie said dryly.   
  
"No. I can't leave him to die. I won't let Curt lose him the way I lost Luis. The way Curt lost me." Brian looked up at Duncan. "I'm going to meet him, and finish this thing."   
  
"Good luck."   
  
Brian shook his head, obvious anger coloring his expression. "I won't need it."  
  
*  
  
He was bound, gagged and his jaw ached something fierce. Arthur struggled against the ropes that held him to the chair, but they didn't give. Suddenly footsteps echoed around the room. Arthur stilled, watching his shadowy captor walk toward him.   
  
"Now, now, don't be scared." The man smiled, then unfastened the gag. "It never does any good."   
  
"Who are you?"  
  
"Who am I?" the man murmured. "Wrong question. 'What are you?' might be more apt."   
  
"Fine, I'll bite. What are you?"   
  
"Oh, I can't tell you that. But you might want to ask your little friend Tommy- or should I say Brian. That is, if you both survive." The grin spread across the man's face. "I wouldn't count on that happening. I don't even know if he'll show up. If not, I guess we'll just have to have a private party."  
  
Arthur stared into the man's cruel eyes, believing his threats completely. He swallowed hard, a sick feeling overcoming him. He had to count on Tom Maxwell- Brian Slade- to survive. He was doomed. 


	7. Chapter Seven

A/N: I realize that the picture of Brian Slade fighting a duel may seem funny (hilarious) to some (all!!) but he's an Immortal. So he has to. Please excuse me while I go laugh at the mental picture I got while writing this.  
  
Chapter Seven  
  
The park was dark and silent as a tomb. As walked through the shadowy grove of trees, Brian decided that was fitting, since someone would be dying among the pines tonight. The buzz of another Immortal rang in his head suddenly and Brian spun to see a tall man leaning against a tree.   
  
"Cameron Powers," the man said, drawing his sword.   
  
"Brian Slade," Brian said, following suit. "Where's the reporter?"  
  
Cameron gestured to a bench a few feet away. "Thought he might enjoy a front row seat."   
  
"We wouldn't want to disappoint him then."  
  
Cameron took a step toward Brian and made the first move. Their swords clashed with a metallic ring, Brian blocking the hard blow with graceful precision, but the strength of the strike forced him backward, nearly trapping him against a tree. Brian managed to slip out of the deadly position.   
  
Cameron lunged, his sword slicing Brian's stomach. Brian winced, but luckily he had seen the move coming and dodged, so what would have been a gash was merely a nick. He parried Cameron's next strike, forcing him back. Cameron didn't give up, slamming his sword against Brian's. Brian twisted and struck, a quick jarring blow disarming Cameron.   
  
"There can be only one," Brian whispered and swung his sword, decapitating Cameron. His sword fell from his hand and he looked up at Arthur, standing wide eyed a few feet away. He didn't have time to say anything before the power of the Quickening ripped through him. He cried out and crashed to his knees. The thrashing of the Quickening and the wound in his side overcame him. He felt his body go limp and knew that he was dying. Brian gave a little sigh, and let his head roll back as his heart stopped.   
  
*  
  
Bright light poured onto his eyelids. Brian fought to open them and finally succeeded. McLeod was above him. Brian murmured, "Did I die?"  
  
"Yeah."   
  
Brian struggled into a sitting position. "So did he, right?"  
  
"Permanently."   
  
"And that idiot reporter?"   
  
"In the living room, drinking tea and being very confused."  
  
Brian smiled and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. "Good."   
  
The two walked out of the bedroom and into the living room, where Arthur, Tessa and Richie sat on the couch, sipping tea and talking softly. They looked up as they entered the room.   
  
"How is this possible?" Arthur murmured, standing up and moving toward Brian. "You were dead. I was there… Every time! I don't understand."   
  
"You don't have to," Duncan replied. "Its not important."  
  
"Sure I can't print any of this? It would make an amazing story." At their blank stares, Arthur shook his head and pulled his jacket on. "Didn't think so. Well, I can't say I didn't learn anything." He fussed with his collar, straightening the pin that was fastened there.   
  
Brian felt his throat close up at the sight of the pin. "Nice pin," he said quietly, eyes focused on the glowing green jewel.   
  
Arthur fingered it gently. "It belonged to Oscar Wilde. Or so I was told." On impulse, he pulled it off and handed it to the other man. "Here. For your image."   
  
Brian took it gingerly. "I… I can't."   
  
"Sure you can."   
  
"Thanks. You don't know what this means to me." Brian closed his fingers around it.   
  
Arthur smiled. "Yes, I do."   
  
"Thanks, Arthur," Brian said, pinning it on his jacket.   
  
"I think it belongs there… Brian." Arthur smiled and gave a little wave at the other people in the room. "Cheers. It's been… interesting."   
  
After Arthur left, Mac turned to Brian. "So where to now?"  
  
"I have a tour to finish," Brian said. Then he smiled. "And some stuff to live up to. Until next time, McLeod?"   
  
"Until then, Brian."   
  
*  
  
Tom Maxwell's next big hit was a cover of Brian Slade's wildly popular seventies tune, "Hot One". Right on its heels came Maxwell's announcement that he was bisexual and had been involved with Luis Costa. That caused a stir, but times were changing. There may have been fighting in the streets nine years before, but suddenly it seemed like dancing.   
  
Arthur laid back on the couch, Curt's arms wrapped around him, as they watched an interview with Tom on MTV. The performer sat back, relaxed, wearing the pin on his lapel. He spoke softly, smiling every once in a while. The sound was too low for the lovers to head what he was saying, but half way through, Curt looked down at Arthur. "He reminds me of Brian," Curt said softly, and for the first time, there was no pain in his eyes as he spoke of his ex-love.   
  
"Yeah," Arthur murmured, leaning up to kiss Curt. "I guess he does."  
  
A/N: So what did you all think? Did it work? Did you like it? Hate it? Tell me, I beg youJ And to Twinks: Yes, I know this was supposed to be a Curt-less story, but its like drugs: you can't just quit cold turkey. Next time, I promise. And hey, it ended happily, which is a break in at least one routine. 


End file.
